Not too much to say. First story on and its a Supernatural story; a CastielxOC romance story. It takes place after Dean goes to Hell and starts at the beginning of season four. It will be in first person, so I hope you all enjoy. If you do, please review and if you don't, please tell me what I can improve on-constructive criticism, no flaming, be an adult. Thank you. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do NOT own Supernatural or its characters. I just own Natalie, other OCs, and some plot points in the story.

Warning: Swearing, some sexual content, alcohol and drug references, gore, violence, and crude humor.

Chapter One: Warnings

Loud music reverberated throughout the house from my second-story bedroom mixing with the sound of the air conditioner that was turned to a very low level since it wasn't very hot today; it hardly ever was in Portland, Oregon. My fair hair, which was always tied up, was bound back in a messy bun and my bangs were pinned away from my face as my light eyes focused intently on my current project. I was perched on a stool, my right hand steadily and smoothly working with my oil paints, specifically a brown and green mixture; my other hand was holding my platter of paints that was smudged with various hues. While doing so, I hummed lightly to the music that playing in the background.

I was engrossed in what I was doing, but not so engrossed that the chilling sensation of someone watching me went unnoticed.

Instantly, my body tensed, my brows furrowed, and my hand stilled in what I was doing. Quickly, I spun around, after gingerly placing my items down, throwing my elbow out only to have it expertly caught and I became face to face with a familiar baby face and a pair of caramel peepers.

"Gabriel?"

The male, whose chestnut brown locks were smoothed back, smirked that trademark smirk of his—one that was filled with haughtiness and mischief and that I grown up to. "Hello, gorgeous."

Upon narrowing my eyes, I used my free hand to aim it at his jaw.

Once again my attack was foiled as Gabriel grabbed my fist; his smirk widened. He clucked his tongue in mock disapproval. "What kind of person greets an old friend by attacking them?" Then, he pulled away, releasing me, to gaze down at his hands; he scowled a little. "…And covers them in paint?"

With a scoff and a roll of my eyes, I stood from my stool, strolled away from my easel, and crossed to my desk. I grabbed a washcloth and wiped the wet paint from my hands. That was before I tossed him the same cloth to do the same as I did. "Here," You big baby., I added dryly to myself.

He caught it and wiped his hands, muttering a 'thank you'.

Just nodding and turning down my music since we were sort of yelling at each other, I turned to face him and leaned up against my desk. I crossed my arms over my chest. "What are you doing here, Gabe?" I asked dully. I scowled at him when he tossed the washcloth to the floor carelessly—he was such a slob; can't count how many times I had to clean up numerous candy wrappers because of him. It only deepened when he plopped on my bed to lounge—I had just made it and he knocked Teddie over.

The brunet feigned hurt, a hand clasping over his chest. "Oh, my dear Natalie! I'm hurt! No 'hello' kiss or hug? I'm hurt, deeply, deeply hurt, young lady. Cuts me right here," He pointed to where his heart was, pretending to grimace. He smirked a little. "Though, I do appreciate the outfit." he added with a point.

I deadpanned—I only blushed a little as I realized I was just in a small black tank top and denim short-shorts covered in paint.

Gabriel was always one for theatrics.

"Are you done?" I said dryly.

He pouted. "You're no fun. You're getting boring in your old age, Miss. Wilson." he huffed, pulling out a Twix bar from his inner jacket pocket and biting into it after unwrapping it halfway.

"Fuck you!" I snapped, my cheeks flushed, grabbing the nearest item on my desk behind me—turned out to be a pencil sharpener—and chucking it at his head angrily. "I'm only twenty-four, you asshole!" Much to my dismay, the angel—yes, an angel—caught it with ease.

Gabriel just laughed at me, making me scowl further, as he placed the sharpener on my night table. Then, he casually strolled up to my unfinished painting on my easel of a handsome male with short very dirty blonde hair, slight five o'clock shadow, and bright hazel eyes. An unreadable expression crossed his face—all I could tell was that it was grave and it unsettled me. I stared at him intently with an arched brow—what was with that look?

"Dean Winchester, huh?" he said after a moment.

I gave a small start. How did he-? "Uh, yeah," I replied slowly, perplexed, my eyebrows creasing. "You've met him?"

I didn't recall Gabriel or Dean mentioning crossing each other's paths—I did my best to not cringe upon thinking of the second male.

Gabriel gave a nonchalant shrug. "In passing."

My blue optics narrowed suspiciously. "Oh, yeah, like that doesn't sound suspicious." I retorted, sarcasm dripping from my voice. Gabriel just peered back at me, smirking cheekily and toothily.

I rolled my eyes—obviously prying was going to lead me nowhere—and placed my hands on my hips. I repeated sternly, "What are you doing here, Gabriel?"

"Can't I just come and visit my sweet Natalie Wilson without having an ulterior motive?" the brunet claimed, his smirk widening. He pinched my cheek just to annoy me further. I swatted his hand away, my cheeks flushed.

"Gabriel, I'm being serious." I told him in a warning tone—I honestly felt I was talking to a rebellious teenager more often than not. "I haven't seen you in months and then, you suddenly appear for just a random visit? That's not like you, so what's up? And be honest. I know that's hard for you," He glowered at me for that. "But try."

"Like I said," he started, making a face. "You're getting boring in your old age, Miss. Wilson."

"Gabriel,"

He sighed and raked a hand through his hair, looking away from me. The angel was grave again, but even more so and I fidgeted nervously abruptly. I had asked him to be serious, but why did he look so solemn and why did it fill my chest with so much dread? "I just wanted to warn you," he mumbled.

I blinked, taken off guard. "W-Warn me? About wha-what?" I questioned warily.

Gabriel was silent, scowling at my wall. I studied his face, his eyes, and his body language. I couldn't read him at all and generally I could; I had known him for a long time after all. All I knew was that it scared me; he hardly ever acted like this.

I started to tremble a little and my breath started to come out shakily against my will. "G-Gabe, say something, you're starting to sc-scare me." I stammered anxiously. I knew I sounded like a meek child, but I couldn't help it.

Finally, after some more coaxing, he looked to me and stared me straight in the eye. Swallowing hard, I took aback at the various emotions in the eyes that I had lov-I had known for so long. He finally spoke, his voice low, "Things are going to get pretty nasty around here soon and I want you to be careful, I want you to take care of yourself, Natalie."

My breath hitched in my throat. Unsteadily, I touched his arm. "What are y-you t-talking about, Gabriel? What do y-you mean "things are going to get nasty"? Wha-What's going to happen?" I choked out. Did what he was saying have anything to do with how weird the world was getting recently, how it almost seemed on edge, preparing for something terrible to happen? If it did, why would it concern an angel? Or Gabriel in general? He had never once warned me about something; not when the Devil's Gate opened or anything. So why the warning now?

"I wish I could tell ya, babe, but I can't." Gabriel admitted reluctantly, shaking his head. "I wish I could even force ya to stay here in this house, but I couldn't do that to you or expect you to listen, so be careful."

"Gabriel, I-" I was cut off by cell phone ringing and vibrating on my desk from behind. I nearly jumped out of my skin and snapped my head to the contraption.

'Bobby Singer' flashed on the caller ID screen and I made face. I wanted to continue this conversation with Gabriel to find out what the Hell he was talking about, but Bobby only called me if something important came up—and occasionally, to check up on me—so I was torn. However, when I glanced back to the angel in my bedroom, he gave me a hollow smile, his hands stuffed into his jeans' pockets, and nudged his head in the direction of my phone telling me to answer it.

I sighed deeply. "We're not finished." I told him before picking up my cell. I flipped it open, pressed the green "Answer" button and placed it my ear. "Hey, Bobby. What's up?" I answered.

"…Hey, Nat." My heart nearly stopped upon hearing the almost breathless reply of a male's voice that I'd never hear again.

But that wasn't possible. He was dead, stone, cold dead, and he had been for four months; I had witnessed his death with my own two eyes. The memory of his death was imbedded into my brain like a tattoo and continuously haunted my dreams at night and my thoughts during the day. I remembered his screams of agony, all that blood as invisible creatures called Hellhounds tore him apart like a rag doll, how helpless his younger brother and I were, how that demonic bitch cackled at his excruciating murder, and how hard I cried that day and many days afterwards.

Thus, there was no way he could be alive, there was no way he could be on the other end. And even if he was, I didn't want to think about how he could be brought from Hell. There were so many horrible ways—demonic possession, shapeshifter, making a deal with a Crossroads Demon or something else to mess with me—and every single one made me angry and made me want to hit or kill something. I had suffered enough because of his passing. It had to be some cruel, supernatural joke. Well, I wouldn't fall for it. The past four months had been painful enough, I didn't want to hurt anymore; he wouldn't it that way, I had to move on.

So, scowling, I pulled my cell phone away from ear and was about to press the red "End" button, but Gabriel's voice stopped me, "Don't hang up."

I snapped my head to him, looking at him shocked and bewildered. He promptly repeated himself but firmer. I arched a brow at his strange—stranger—behavior yet, complied. I placed the phone back to my ear, swallowed hard, and said hesitantly, "D-Dean, is…th-that you?"

There came a deep sigh of relief on the other end. "I honestly thought you were going to hang up me there for a sec."

"I was going to." I replied honestly.

He chuckled, a sound I had deeply missed even if it sounded a bit nervous and shaky. "Either way, yeah, its me, Natalie. The real me, in case you're wondering. No tricks, promise." Dean Winchester said.

Chewing the inside of my cheek, I brushed my blonde bangs from my face that had escaped my bobby pins. "Wh-Where…Are you at Bobby's?" I queried with concern. If Dean was really back from the dead, I didn't want him wandering around alone and confused—something he most definitely was. He was a big boy, a skilled hunter, but he was unarmed, so I didn't want him to get hurt either.

"No, but I am with him."

Well, that was a relief. It made sense since he was using Bobby's phone—he obviously didn't have one. Though, I was disappointed to hear no mention of his sibling—guess Sam still hadn't contacted anyone.

"Where are you?"

"We're heading your way to see ya; we need to talk."

We most certainly did.

"I'll be waiting."

"Right. See ya soon, Barbie."

I almost smiled at my old nickname he had dubbed me with from childhood. I was nowhere near a Barbie doll and it normally would irritate me, but I was happy to hear it again; I'd let it slide. "See you, Deano." I returned with his own nickname.

"Oh, and Natalie?"

"Hm?"

"Don't attack me with a knife or dump Holy Water on me, okay? I've had enough of that today."

"I was just makin' sure, ya idjit!" spat a familiar gruff, Southern accented male's voice muffled in the background.

Bobby.

Rolling my eyes and shaking my head with a tiny smile, I hung up the phone.

When I did so, I released a breath I didn't know I had been holding. I was relieved and happy that Dean was alive and he sounded well. Though, I still felt anxious and slightly scared. I had doubts that that was my Dean, but it was still nice to hear his voice again. It was just if he was really back from Hell, how did he come and why? And if that hadn't been him, what lied for me when he reached my home?—Bobby's voice could've been a ruse. Either way, the only way I was going to find out was to wait until they arrived. That made me antsy, but I was a hunter, I had to suck it up and be prepared for anything.

"And so it begins," spoke Gabriel from behind me.

I glanced back again only for my brows to furrow deeply at his gravely expressional face. "What do you mean, Gabe?" I asked.

Saying nothing, the angel approached me. I watch him closely. When he reached me, he leaned down—though, he didn't have to dip too far since I was tall—to kiss my cheek, causing me to blush and stiffen in shock, and whispered somberly in my ear, "Take care of yourself, Natalie Wilson. Hope to see you again."

Shivers ran down my spine and worry welled in my chest. I began to ask what he was talking about, but when I blinked, he was gone.

I frowned, clutching my phone to my chest. "Gabe…"

What the Hell was going on?

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